Leave It Behind
by Genis Aurion
Summary: What Kenny doesn't want to do, he must do. And he's only got three weeks to do it.
1. Unholy Negotiations

**Leave It Behind  
**_Chapter One_

He grumbled under his breath and made the walk.

He closed his eyes—he already knew the way. Chattering filled his ears, but he chose to block their whispers from his head. The heat tempted him to strip the parka he had owned for so long, but he ignored that too, only processing forward.

He could feel people staring at him.—where they people?—where they, perhaps, inanimate, undead beings? He'd never stopped to figure out before; he would not now. He only went forth, slow in pace, and preparing himself for what would come.

He'd gone through this many times before. He was sure they all knew who he was by now, what his presence felt like, the sound of his voice…. He kept his lips sealed tightly, speaking only to the person he needed to, and none other; something told him that his consistent presence among them wasn't at all welcome….

His bare feet hit something hard, and he opened his eyes slightly. The road from here would be slightly graveled, yet he didn't mind at all—if he suffered any injuries, they would be nothing compared to what he'd faced before. He winced at the thought, his eyes opening for a fraction of a second. They were pale in color, partly the reason he kept them closed. He knew those beings would detest seeing them, how bright and pleasant they looked, even though nothing of the sort lay beyond those pearly orbs….

He persisted on.

They were waiting for him, no doubt. He was the only exception, the only person who could experience a second time with their deals, a third, a fourth… maybe even past a hundred times, by now. He was the only one who could delay having to ascend those stairs—or descend them, if he chose. He knew he was famous amongst them; surely they would know he was here.

He traveled the jagged road until he reached an arch. He stared into it contemplatively—what task would they have for him this time? They were all so menial, so simple… returning here was surely worth everything they asked of him….

With a straight face he stepped through the arch, a sizzling sensation bursting through him. Admittedly the first time he had walked through that arch had been quite surprising… but now it felt so ordinary, so mundane, as if it were part of a daily routine….

He opened his eyes—it would be safe here, away from all those beings now far behind him. There was only one person here, one person that concerned him, one person who enjoyed his frequent visits. He took several steps on the stone floor, and though his eyes were open, he kept them in narrow slits, as was always the way.

The heat now was almost unbearable, yet still he managed; it was way too often he felt the burning pain…. If it had been any more warmer he would never even think of coming here so often, yet… even in that case, he wouldn't have the option of turning back.

He made that decision long ago.

He stepped through another arch, the same sizzling sensation searing through his system, and he blinked at the scene in front of him. It was all stone—anything else would melt or burn. He was now in a circular room, with a curved ceiling above him, and a small ring at the center of the room. Far ahead of him was a stone chair, and in it sat a boy, undisturbed by the other's presence. He remained motionless, eyes closed, foot tapping, as if wallowing in apparent boredom.

The visitor took to the center of the room, and, with an inhale of breath, stepped into the ring.

"You don't belong here," the boy on the throne said with a clear voice, not even turning his gaze to see who he was talking to—he already knew. "And you know that."

"But I'm still here, aren't I?" challenged the visitor, taking off the hood of the parka, revealing masses of blonde hair, cut in the back at all different lengths, bangs hanging lowly over his eyes. "I'm back."

His eyes were narrow, slit-like, glaring at the boy on the throne. They were so different, that boy's black hair and crimson eyes, in comparison to the other's golden hair, cerulean orbs in the whites of his eyes…. Yet the blonde boy was unfazed by this boy's home, taking it as his own, treating the boy as if they had something in common.

…because they did, after all.

"Negotiating with the grand scheme of things, I presume?" the boy at the throne asked, sighing. "Kenny, Kenny… I suppose I'll never figure out your reasons behind this?"

Kenny glared, barely shaking his head. "It's not something you need to be worried about. Unless, you're afraid your dad's taken on a new favorite?" His blue eyes gleamed at the mentioning, his challenge ringing through the hall, though no one but those two heard.

The boy on the throne looked enraged, his scarlet eyes glaring at him, twinkling with some sort of passion, yet still something Kenny couldn't place a finger on…. "Crossing that line won't do you justice, though, will it, Kenny? After all, it _is_ my choice whether you can live up to my father's dealings, isn't it?"

Kenny bit his lip—that was fact in stone, much as all the walls were around him. After all, he'd need Damien's cooperation if he wanted to succeed…. "What do I need to do?"

"But I told you already, didn't I?" Damien said with the widest smirk, challenging Kenny's slit-like glare. "I told you what my father wanted, didn't I? He told you last time you were here."

"But I won't do it," snapped Kenny, fists shaking with fury. "That conflicts with the limit of interference… or have you forgotten?"

"I have not," said Damien coolly. He stood up from his throne, making his way leisurely toward the ring. "Anyway… with my dad's current boy—advisor, I doubt neither of you will be having much say anymore."

"It was a deal," seethed Kenny, "a deal he and I made when I first came here, a deal you, as his son, is expected to uphold when he's not here."

"Ah, I see. But… like I said, neither of you will be having much say anymore." Damien stood, leaning into Kenny, noses almost touching, red orbs taunting blue ones. "You _will_ do as I say though, won't you? Or would you rather face…" but the boy trailed off—Kenny didn't need reminding of his fate.

Kenny was enraged. Standing next to the holder of his fate, his destiny on the line…. What had happened since he had last left this place?—Kenny would surely find out. But at the given moment it seemed Damien had been given power…foolishly so… and consequently he'd be unable to do anything for a while but to comply….

"Fine," Kenny growled," raising his hood once more. "I'll do it. How much will you give me?"

"Well, I'd say… six months."

"Six months?" Kenny shouted, shaking his head in disagreement. "Quite a big task you're asking me!—not like the other ones you've made me do! Six months is utter crap." He challenged the devil's son once more, searching for that one weakness…. "I'd say three years."

"Three years?" Damien asked with a playful laugh, stepping back from Kenny's personal space. "Three years, you say?—ha! What a joke."

"But you want it done badly, don't you?" sneered Kenny, taking the opportunity to taunt the other. "You've wanted this for a while, under your father's command—"

"—_don't_ you dare—"

"—and I'm _oh-so-sure_ he never gave you permission." Kenny laughed at Damien's reaction. "I may be his servant at the moment, but don't think I haven't picked up on—"

"_Fine_!" shrieked Damien, who seemed to be in agony. "_Fine!_—_stop_ talking about that _now_." Kenny smiled but complied—his work was done. "T…three years it is, then."

"Good, then shall I—?"

"—no."—and Kenny found himself frowning once more.

"No?"

"That's right." Damien's face twisted into a smirk, eyes glinting with a new burning passion. "If I'm giving you three years, you're giving me three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Kenny asked, tilting his head. Damien had him twisted on his finger, at this point… but… three years meant a lot to him, didn't it…? "Fine, three weeks. And if not I'm coming back."

"Good," said Damien. He raised his arm to shake his hand, and, with reluctance, Kenny shook it.

Damien pointed to the arch behind Kenny. "You know your way out… I guess I'll see you then."


	2. Kennedy Jacobs

**Leave It Behind  
**_Chapter Two_

He saw the beings as he made his way back.

He didn't close his eyes—he was scared now, scared that Damien had thrown some last trick at him, some clever stunt Kenny had not thought of. His parka hood was shut tight, refusing any of those four-eyed beings to look at the blues of his eyes, afraid they would be startled at him.

He was frightened.

He walked quickly, paying little attention to the rocks on the road that were cutting into the bottoms of his feet. He wanted to leave—_quickly_—and walking swiftly down that never-ending hall seemed to be the only solution….

His eyes lingered over the skeletons to the side of the road, bones once belonging to other people making that trek… yet he, Kenny McKormick, had been the one to make the deal with the devil, he had been the only one to make the return alive….

He could hear voices, but whether they were comprehendible, he wasn't sure. They seemed to be hooting at him, calling him, pleading him, asking for a chance of their own—but Kenny ignored them. He couldn't give them what they asked him for; they didn't know what would happen if they accepted the chance… they wouldn't be pleading if they knew what they were getting into.

A bird croaked from the branch above him, but he ignored it—meeting its gaze would surely convey the wrong message. He had been here many times before, but he hadn't stopped to discover all the secrets to the place, if the birds liked to be fed, if the beings spoke a language he understood….

And then he was gone. The heat simmered; a winding stone path laid before him now. He took his walk slowly, hanging his head low as he twisted and turned.

He needed these three years. He needed them. Yet… it was much too high of a price to place on it—in a matter of three weeks, too. Would he be able to do it?—would he be able to bring himself to doing something so immorally wrong?

It was such a specific task, so complicated… and only the perfect execution would grant him those years. If he failed… he would surely never get the chance again.

But then, what happened once he got those three years?—he would surely be craving more with due course, no? He would come back down when that time elapsed and ask for more, enslave himself to another menial task, all to earn the time he needed….

Kenny reached the end of the hall, and for a moment he stopped. His eyes found themselves eyeing the stone staircases before him, the three towering structures that would take him elsewhere. They'd all take him on—his eyes widened particularly at the one farthest left, the only one leading him further down. He didn't want to go there.

The center and right flight of stairs led upward, and his heart eased at the sight of these. He would only be able to climb one of these, however; with a defeated sigh, he raised a foot and began to climb the middle one.

About twelve steps up the staircase to his right jeered a sharp left, and he stopped a moment to look at its direction. The steepness of that stairs, the spiraling to forever upward…. He had only been there once, and he knew that had been the only chance he would ever get.

And then… he was there.

He was met with a bright flash of light, the familiar scene forming in front of him. He seemed to be lying on the street this time around, noticing the quick flurry of feet pass him by, as if he weren't there….

He picked himself up. How convenient: right in front of Tom's Rhinoplasty. He sighed, looking around, before returning home.

He wondered how long it had been this time around, how much time had passed since he died yet again. He wondered what had happened in his town, what people had done…. The thought of missing out on the town's events yet again seemed to sadden him, but his bargain enlightened him once more.

_Three weeks_, Kenny reminded himself_, three weeks and, if I succeed, it won't happen for another three years_….

"Kenny!"

The blonde stopped in his tracks, turning around as he found the usual three walking toward him. First to arrive was Kyle Broflovski, his long legs needing to cover less distance; then came Stan Marsh, who seemed thrilled with Kenny's return; and last came Eric Cartman, still puffing from his friends' sudden gain in speed.

"Welcome back!" Stan said, patting Kenny on the shoulder. "We were just about to go to Stark's Pond, wanna join?" And without hesitation, Kenny followed them.

"…terrorize those damn birds," Cartman was saying, but Kenny wasn't listening. His mind was focused more upon the deal he had made; should he carry his part of the deal now? The opportunity _was_ within reach; he _could_ do it now, if he thought about it carefully….

But that was the part he needed time for, the reason Damien had given him three weeks instead of three days. For someone who seemed cold, Damien still cared for Kenny's success; getting the job done was one thing, but doing it properly, keeping Kenny out of matters where he wasn't welcome… that was a whole other thing.

Kenny glanced at Kyle, and then to Stan. What a predicament Damien had placed him in…. It would be much harder than the other tasks he had been given. Yet still, he _needed_ those three years….

"You up for a contest, Kenneh?" asked Cartman, stone already in hand. "A dollah to play, and whoever stones the most birds gets the pot?—oh, but I forgot, you can't _afford_ to lose a dollah, can ya, Kenneh?"

"Fucker," he mumbled under his breath, allowing his feet to continue guiding his way to the pond. There was a sickening feeling in Kenny's heart as he walked; no doubt, he'd have to push himself away from his friends before he embarked on his task. He couldn't have them knowing what he was up to; they hadn't known then, they couldn't know now.

Kenny looked over to Stan and Kyle, both busy talking. He already knew which one was doomed to Damien's plan, which one would be left with the consequences…. Kenny gulped at the thought; he couldn't do this to his friends, it wasn't right…. Everyone before now had been strangers to him, people he could dispose of without thinking twice, all for his own aims. But Stan and Kyle… they were his friends!

Kenny had barely noticed their arrival at the pond. "So, what'd ya say, Kenneh?" egged Cartman, waving a dollar bill in front of his face. "A dollah to play?"

"I'll just watch," said Kenny, sitting back against a log. To his surprise Kyle joined him, and as he acknowledged his presence, both boys turned to the bout between Stan and Cartman.

"I think Stan's gonna win," Kyle said confidently, turning to Kenny. "What'd you think?"

"I dunno," muttered Kenny, not looking at Kyle. He had three weeks… but he needed to start as quickly as he could. Pushing himself away from Kyle would have to be the first step.

"You okay?" Kyle asked, tilting his head. "You don't look so well."

"I'm fine." Kenny stared coldly at the pond in front of him, watching a poor bird crash into its surface. His fate might end up the same way if he didn't succeed….

He didn't talk to Kyle, but his insides were still swimming with emotions. It was as if the sudden realization had crashed onto him, as if he had just realized the magnitude of the deal, as if he suddenly figured out the consequences of the actions he'd have to carry out…. He couldn't do it, he _couldn't_… yet he _had_ to, he _needed_ to.

He wasn't ready to face… _him_.

"I'm sorry, by the way," said Kyle suddenly, placing an arm on Kenny's shoulder.

Kenny pulled away.

"I'm sorry," Kyle repeated, looking disheartened from Kenny's reaction. "If you're still mad at me because I… accidentally killed you… I understand. But I wanna let you know I'm sorry, dude."

Kenny sighed, still not facing Kyle. "I'm not mad at you at all, Kyle. I offered to be your punching bag, anyway."

"Then why do you seem so… angry?"

Kenny blinked; angry? He had been expecting the word 'sad' at the very least, but… not angry. "I'm not angry, Kyle, really, I'm not. It's just—" but he cut himself off. He couldn't let Kyle know what he was doing, what he was about to do… especially since he was involved. "—just nothing, really. I'm fine."

Kyle smiled. "If you say so, dude."

The two grew silent once more, though this time, only to see the progress of the game. From the outsider's point of view, it seemed Stan was winning…. "You heard about the guy on the news, right?"

Kenny shook his head. "I've been gone for who knows how long, Kyle. I don't exactly keep up with the news while I'm gone."

"Oh… I forgot." Kyle shrugged. "Anyway, there's gonna be a trial at the court tomorrow. You know Kennedy Jacobs, right?"

Kenny blinked, sputtering at the name. He quickly apologized, after seeing Kyle's amused expression. "Sorry… err, who?"

"Kennedy Jacobs," Kyle repeated, though Kenny had heard him perfectly clear the first time. "The guy being charged for first degree murder? I think he committed the crime while you were alive."

Kenny's eyes grew wide, but he said nothing. "I… remember him."

Kyle didn't seem to catch his nervousness. "Our Law Studies class is taking a field trip to go see it. I think it should be fun."

"Yeah… guess so." But even as Kyle changed the subject, Kenny's mind continued to ponder the matter. Of course he had known Kennedy Jacobs—how could he not know him? Kenny had supposedly disposed of him, among other people, all while carrying out his tasks….

But everyone else had already slipped into their fates…Jacobs should've met his already, yet….

This wasn't good. Not good at all.

As he watched Stan take two dollars from Cartman's hand, he silently prayed for Jacobs's conviction.  
After all, Jacobs hadn't been the one to commit that murder.


End file.
